


Little White Lies

by Pollydoodles



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 14:34:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7391053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pollydoodles/pseuds/Pollydoodles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers has a problem with the Fourth of July. Darcy helps him end it with a bang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little White Lies

“Happy Birthday, Cap!”

It’s about the fiftieth time he’s heard it that day, and - as pleasantly as the greeting is delivered - he can’t handle it anymore. Especially as around forty of those fifty times, it was Tony Stark saying it. Or texting it. Or emailing it. Or goddamn tweeting it. Something inside Steve snaps, and he spins on his heel with a murderous look in his eye that he's already aware is a ridiculous overreaction even as he opens his mouth. 

“No, I was not delivered to my mother by a bald eagle. I did not have baby clothes made from the stars and stripes. My first word was not freedom. Betsy Ross was not my first god damn crush. And for the love of all that is holy, I fucking hate fireworks.”

Dr. Foster’s intern looks up at him in alarm, and she takes a step back away from him, hitting the refrigerator door as she moves. “Um,” She says, swallowing with eyes wide and a twist to her lips that he can’t quite decipher. “I guess maybe people who are nearly a hundred don’t want reminding of their birthday?” 

Steve sighs, and feels like a jerk. “I’m sorry, I didn’t - didn’t mean to scare you.” The little brunette in front of him nods slightly, wrapping her blue blazer over her chest more firmly and leaning back against the cool chrome surface behind her. He knows of her, but can’t really say that he actually knows her, and now he’s regretting his smart mouth. 

“You didn’t.” She shrugs with nonchalance, pushing back hair behind her ears and blinking up at him with a casual roll of her shoulders that he’s come to associate with the kids of today. Steve finds the gesture a little odd on her, because with the curls and the eyes and the way her lips are painted a bright scarlet, she reminds him a helluva lot of the girls he’d grown up idolising. 

“Scare me, I mean.” She clarified. “It’s up to you if you wanna spend your birthday grumpy.”

“I’m not spending it-” He breaks off when he notices the grin on her little face, and realises she’s pushing buttons he’s almost forgotten he had. The ones that haven’t been played that way since it was the 30s and one James Buchanan Barnes knew how to rile Steve Rogers like no one else could. He huffs out a small laugh and rolls his eyes at her. 

“Steve,” He chooses to say instead, offering a hand towards her for her to shake. “But I guess you knew that.”

“Darcy.” She counters, shaking his hand with a firmness of grip he wasn’t entirely expecting. “And I’ll bet you didn’t know that.” There’s a bubble of competition rising in Steve’s chest that really wants to prove her wrong, but the truth is he tries not to spend too much time near the labs. He was never all that interested in science, and he thinks he’s got close enough to the forefront of scientific endeavours back in the war - enough to last him a lifetime and change. 

So no, he didn’t know her name was Darcy, and more than that, he hadn’t been aware how pretty she was. He’s seen her around, obviously, but she sticks close to Dr. Foster and Thor’s not around all that much with the on-going conflicts that Asgard has to preside over, so he’s never has cause to speak to her before. 

“So you looking to hide or something?” She asks, reaching past him to the coffee pot on the kitchen counter and sliding it out of its holder, producing a mug from god-knows-where that proclaims she’s the world’s best boss; and that is something that Steve does recognise, because it’s Tony’s personal mug. 

He’s grinning, again, and she’s got to think he’s an idiot by this point. 

“Not sure there’s anywhere that can hide Captain America on Independence Day,” He says ruefully, having remembered her question and standing aside as she takes a long sip and sighs happily over the steaming liquid. Putting the mug on the counter she turns back to him and folds her arms over her chest as she registers what he’s just said. 

“And to think they called you the man with the plan.” Darcy shakes her head and sticks out a hand towards him, one eyebrow cocked and a certain tilt to her chin that suggests there’s at least a fifty-fifty chance that, if he does, this will end in trouble. 

Steve decides he quite likes the idea of trouble. 

\------

“The roof?”

“No one comes up here. Well, save Jane and sometimes Selvig when he’s around, but he doesn’t do too much star-gazing anymore. Not since the stars stared right back at him.” Darcy chatters as she ascends the ladder in front of him and he is listening, really he is, but Steve’s developed a wonderful ability to multi-task over the years so he’s also kind of checking out her ass. He feels a bit like a jerk again. 

“Voila.” Darcy spins, arms wide, showing off the deserted rooftop like she’s just thrown open the door to a palace. Steve rests an arm on the curved metal of the roof ladder, one leg bent and half-over the roof edge, the other still on the ladder rungs. He quirks an eyebrow and Darcy puts her hands on her hips. 

“Beggars and choosers, Cap. You want peace and quiet, you take what you’re given.” 

\-------

“It’s not even my birthday.” He confesses, lying back on the concrete roof with his hands behind his head, staring up at the summer sky. He squints into the sun and watches lazily as shapes form slowly in the clouds overhead. He’s not quite sure when he last felt this carefree. He knows that all the problems he had before will be waiting for him, just as soon as he sticks on foot onto the rusted ladder, but right now he doesn’t care. 

“Plot twist.” Darcy murmurs next to him, and Steve laughs. He rolls to one side, propping himself up on one elbow and looks at her. She’s got her skirt hitched up as high as she can whilst keeping her modesty, all bunched up over her hips and the hem of it skirting across the very tops of her thighs. Her shoes are kicked off, discarded along with the pretty blue blazer she’d been sporting, and her bare toes are wriggling in the sunshine. Her eyes are shut and he takes a moment to just enjoy looking at the girl. 

“The director thought it would be a neat idea.” Steve says, thoughts returning to the past as he spoke, running a hand through his blond hair and dishevelling it. “Some gimmick, I guess. Everyone at the time knew it was horseshit, but they liked it for the films.” Darcy hums to show she’s listening, even if her eyes are closed and her chin is tilting her face into the sun. 

“When I woke up, somehow it had become fact.” 

“Once it’s on Wikipedia, dude.” Darcy commented and arched her back off the concrete, twisting an arm up and under herself to scratch at an itch in the middle of her back. Steve watches, and catches himself wishing he’d offered to get it for her. 

“So when is your birthday?” She asks, face twisting as she bends awkwardly and reaches up with delicate fingers, and Steve’s captivated as a flash of floral bra is exposed, hitched up as she drags her fingernails over the offending spot. Her nose wrinkles as she finally manages to catch it, and Steve has to tear his eyes off of her and remember the question. 

“December 16th.”

“That's pretty differe- hey.” Darcy hauls herself up onto her elbows and fixes him with a singularly unimpressed look. “That’s the date of the Boston Tea party, asshole.” 

Steve grins. 

“Jerk.” She says, closing her eyes and settling back down. “I really believed you then.”

“Sorry,” Steve says, but he’s not all that sorry, enjoying too much the teasing back and forth between the pair of them. “Can I make it up to you?”

“Tell me what else is fake about Captain America.” She says instantly, a coy smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she pulls her shirt up a little, exposing her stomach to the sunshine. Steve pulls his eyes up from that flash of pale skin, up over her torso and to her face where she’s got her eyes open again now, watching him with interest. “Ruin the legend.”

He snorts, and rolls onto his back, lacing his fingers together over his broad chest and closing his eyes. “Captain America is about as real as a three dollar bill, sweetheart.” He stretches, enjoying the sun beating down on him, and deciding to hell with it. He sits up and hauls his shirt over his head, tossing it to one side and not missing the way Darcy’s eyes flicker over him as he does it. Steve smiles to himself as he lays back out again. 

“Booty shorts.” Darcy challenges, and he sighs. 

“That… Oh god.Okay, that’s true.” He rolls onto his side again, and she mirrors him, head propped on a bended elbow and tangles of dark curls framing a curious face. 

“Faced off against Adolf Hitler.” 

Steve shakes his head at her, and raises a finger. “Only on stage. The USO tour - nice guy, Frank. Took it in good part, but it couldn’t have been easy. People used to spit at him in the street. Even after he’d taken the moustache off.”

Darcy gives him a slightly disbelieving look, but fires back another one all the same. 

“The collectible cards.”

“The pictures are me, but the stats on them aren’t.” Steve answers, and Darcy waits on him to continue. “They have me as 6’4”, but I’m a shade under 6’3”. And it says 200lbs, but I’m only 190, tops.” He shrugs, with the lack of concern of a man who still wakes up every morning expecting to see a concave chest and 85lbs of nothing special looking back at him from the bathroom mirror. 

“Only.” Darcy remarks, rolling her eyes at him. Steve pokes her in the ribs lightly and she yelps, surprised, and pushes him back, one hand flat against the curve of his shoulder as it’s angled towards her. It doesn’t move him at all, which doesn’t surprise him in the slightest but does make him laugh. Darcy wrinkles her nose and and drops her hands to his waist and tickles. 

“No-” Steve manages a strangled cry that’s tinged with more than a splash of laughter and she hoots in triumph, scooting closer and re-doubling her efforts. He struggles and wraps one arm around her waist, hauling her on top of him and capturing her wrists, first one and then the other, in his free hand. Darcy, thighs falling either side of his hips and hair half-covering her face, stills. 

Her chest is heaving and Steve can’t help himself but look at it. The arm curled around her waist relaxes, and he lets his large hand splayed over the small of her back, skin bared to him with her shirt still rucked up from where she’s pulled it up to sunbathe. Keeping his eyes on her, he slowly draws his other hand back, up towards his face, both of her delicate wrists held in his grip. 

It pulls her forward, gently, and she moves with him until she’s almost flush against his bare chest. Steve, feeling like a dog chasing a rabbit that hasn’t got a damned clue what to do when he’s caught it, shifts underneath her and Darcy’s eyes flutter shut briefly. He’s looking at those blue eyes now as they fix back on him, and now his chest feels like it’s thumping fit to burst, heart hammering away on the inside of his rib cage like it’s gonna break straight through. 

“Captain America is a virgin.”

He pauses, and his fingertips trip little nonsense patterns over the bare skin of her lower back, dipping across the curve of it and feeling her shiver under his touch. 

“Not true.”

Darcy bites her lip before she answers. 

“Prove it.”

Steve surges upwards, holding her close to his chest and as his lips meet hers he’s sitting up with her settled firmly in his lap, legs spread across his groin and her freed hands finding their way over the planes of his shoulders. He can’t resist a roll of his hips, a sudden jerk upwards so that the growing bulge in his jeans rubs against her. 

Darcy makes a little noise against his mouth and Steve drags his tongue over her lower lip before slipping it into her mouth and claiming her fully. He reaches up to cup at her face, first tucking back swathes of dark hair and breaking away to breathe into her ear with a voice that’s just above a growl that she’s beautiful, just goddamn beautiful. 

Steve shifts her, moving both hands now to her hips, and rocking her gently over him. He’s not sure who’s more frustrated by it, him with a rock hard erection pushing against the stiff denim of his jeans, or Darcy who’s panting against his shoulder with her head dropped, forehead resting on his bare skin. 

She presses little kisses all along his collarbone and he finds his hands sneaking up and under the hem of her skirt. It’s been brushing the tops of her thighs and he skates over the curve of her ass as it sits over his lap, taking his time and teasing the lacy edges of her panties before running an exploratory finger across her. 

Darcy moans, a low but needy moan, and Steve grazes his teeth across the taut skin of her throat when he finds the material damp under his fingers, just about stopping himself from biting down when he feels her nipples hard through the thin shirt she’s wearing, and dragging deliciously against his chest. Suddenly, her hands are there too, and she’s pulling aside her panties hastily with one and guiding his fingers across where she’s bared to him with the other. 

Steve’s not averse to taking orders where it suits, and this one suits him just fine. She keeps her hand on his wrist until he’s two fingers deep into her and crooking them towards him, his other hand on her hipbone and helping her up and down. Darcy’s kissing him again, wet and filthy, the urgency of it rising as she begins to bounce on his hand. 

He rises to the challenge, and glances his thumb upwards, dragging slowly through the folds and the wetness, stark contrast to the jackhammering rhythm he’s maintaining with his fingers. Steve can feel how close she is, the shudders that pull her body apart and the way that she’s kissing him, all tongue and want. 

“No, no, Steve, Steve, wait-”

Suddenly, she’s pulling back, his fingers slipping from her until he’s only resting against where the edge of her panties has crept back. Steve has no time to puzzle on it before her hands are fumbling at his belt and pulling open his fly. Shuffling back where she’s balanced over his thighs, Darcy’s pulling down the denim and shortly after the smooth lycra of his boxers, enough to let his cock spring free. 

Steve, hands now splayed behind him as he looks up at the panting brunette sat over him, watches with breath caught in the back of his throat as she wraps a careful hand around his cock and slowly, deliberately, pulls upwards. His head falls back and his hips jerk up involuntarily, pushing into her grip. 

She strokes him like that, slow and tight and just keeping him on the right side of the knife edge that he could so easily fall over, before picking up the pace until he’s gasping for air and having to push her away. Darcy moves her hand off him only after she’s executed an interesting little twist on her wrist and swiped her thumb over the beading liquid gathered over the blunt head of his cock. 

“Now?” He asks, thinking with a sudden flush of honesty that he’s around two steps from begging to be inside her at this point. Darcy, beautiful little Darcy, moves herself forward and sinks onto his cock in one solid thrust. He’s briefly grateful that her skirt has fallen over her ass and his lap, just in case anyone should come looking for either of them, though it’s a fleeting thought that is washed away as she starts to ride him. 

It’s replaced by an even briefer thought that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t mind someone happening upon on them. Wouldn’t care if someone saw him taking Darcy like he is, thrusting up hard into her and hearing the fucking incredible noises he’s managing to draw from her, the way she’s leaning forward and brushing plump lips against his ear. 

“God, Steve,” Darcy grinds down on him and moans with her head tipped back, exposing her breasts to him, something of which he takes full advantage, mouthing at her nipples through her thin shirt, teasing them back into the stiff little peaks that had excited him so much before. He can feel her shuddering again, pulsing around him, and now he takes a hand and dances across the curve of her ass, teasing along the skin there and dipping between her thighs to meet his cock as he buries it into her again and again. 

She comes with a curse that sounds like a prayer, hot and wet all over his cock and then he’s pumping up madly, chasing her over the edge because he can’t hold back any longer. Steve promises himself that he’ll take his time with Darcy next time, assuming there is a next time and knowing that he’ll probably do just about anything to ensure that there is one. She’s still in the throes of orgasm as he spills into her seconds later, cock jerking and spluttering and sliding through the tight space of her. 

“Fuck,” He groans, wrapping both arms around her waist and sitting up a little straighter, pulling her onto his cock further as it starts to soften, sated. Darcy, eyes a little unfocused, has her hands on his shoulders and he chases a trickle of sweat from the edge of her jawline down her throat, before returning to her lips and kissing her hard. 

After a moment, she pulls back, still wrapped firmly in him and he in her. 

“Captain America doesn’t use bad language.” She says, half-whispering it and smiling as she does. 

“Not fucking true.”


End file.
